


Silence in the Trees

by MeriwetherLeww



Category: Bandom, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Hallucinations, Imaginary Friends, M/M, mental issues, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 20:36:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7283773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeriwetherLeww/pseuds/MeriwetherLeww
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I got this idea from @solochaos story "Stay in Place" and I was in the mood to write something sad and cute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Doubt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SoloChaos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoloChaos/gifts), [my pal ana](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=my+pal+ana).
  * Inspired by [stay in place (sing a chorus)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1822504) by [SoloChaos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoloChaos/pseuds/SoloChaos). 



He hid in the bathroom when he was scared, or when he couldn't tell if the world was real. 

Why did the world insist on lying to him?  If he saw these things, what made them fake?  _Why_ were they fake? 

Why?

The walls never seemed to close in when he hid in the bathroom.  He'd turn the on the shower as hot as it could go, stand in it and thrive in the burning pain.  _That_ was real.  The pain was _always_ real.  He could never imagine anything like that.  Right?  There were no windows for people to knock on and stare in, the walls were always stationary, the water that hit his skin always always _always_ proved that what happened in there was real.

Nobody was allowed in the bathroom when he was in there.  They didn't always get that, his dad would come in to use the bathroom while he was showering and he'd shout and scream at him to _get out_ because he needed this time, needed this time to himself to try and figure out how to tell what was real and what was imaginary.  Did other people have this problem?  His psychiatrist said no, but he said the world didn't know everyone's brains.

He couldn't stand being told these things weren't real.  They seemed real, so why wouldn't they be?  It made him question reality, every corner he turned he was afraid he'd say something about it in therapy and they'd say it isn't real.  The dog he pet on the street or the cat he left milk out for that one Sunday in August or the nice woman at the store that smiled at him when he asked his mother if penguins had knees.

They were all real.  He could feel them, see them, smell them, hear them.  But so were these things that he was told were imaginary, so how could he tell one from the other?  They were all real to him.

Just because they couldn't see it, he was told they weren't real.

What sense does that make?

Where's the fairness in that?

"Your mother told me about how you ran off a few months back, Tyler."

Silence.

"Why did you never tell me about that?"

He shrugged.  He didn't want to talk about that.

"Why did you run off, Tyler?  Why were you gone for so long?"

Should he tell him about the walls?  How they shake and move and crawl closer and closer and that's why he's so desperate to stay outside and so desperate to have sessions outside? 

"Tyler, I can't help you if you don't tell me what's going on."

He crossed his arms across his chest and looked away, saying, "I just wanted to leave for a little bit."

"Why did you come back with bruises on your head?"

Silence.

"Tyler -"

"You don't have to say my name anytime you need to talk to me.  It's just you and me, I know who you're talking to."

"Please, just talk to me.  All I want to do is help you."

_Do you want to help me or do you know the bonus my parents will give you if you can 'fix' me?_

"I don't want to talk about it."

"What happened while you were gone?  Where did you go?"

Nothing.

. . .

Should he tell him about Josh?

* * *

  _T_ _he walls were closing in again.  He ran so fast his mother's voice faded away within seconds, his tears streamed down his face and flew back on his cheeks, his vision was blurred and his shoulders shook in silent sobs.  He couldn't stay in that house anymore; he couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe. . ._

_He slowed down when the trees became so dense the sun could barely penetrate the thick leaves and vines that wound up the trunks of the sycamores and maples.  His breathing was ragged, shaking, fast, he couldn't seem to get in enough.  He fell to his knees, put his hands on the ground and tried to regain his breath.  "I don't want to go home," he whimpered.  "The walls shake and move and try to kill me, I can't stay there, I don't want to go home."_

_A hand fell gently on his shoulder.  He flew back, kicking his feet out in front of him and trying to see through the dark who it was that grabbed him.  His breathing was speeding up again, dear God, there was someone here.  Oh God, oh God, oh God oh God oh God._

_"Slow down," he ordered.  Whoever they were squatted down in front of him, adding, "I didn't mean to scare you.  Deep breaths, you'll hurt yourself if you keep breathing like that."_

_He wanted to ask questions.  His breath was stopping his voice._

_"Come on, slowly in your nose, same speed out of your mouth.  I'm not going to hurt you, I didn't mean to scare you.  Please, deep, slow breaths.  It'll help, I promise."  He grabbed under his arms and dragged him over to lean against a tree, saying, "Relax.  Deep breaths."_

_He clutched a hand over his heart, leaned against the tree and dragged in a slow, shaking breath.  "Good, good.  Push it out, now.  Slowly."_

_He breathed out his mouth.  Slowly.  Cautiously.  The shaking lessened.  He could breathe again._

_He took another deep breath.  His cheeks felt sticky from the tears, his eyes dry and lashes wet.  "Are you okay?"  He nodded.  He felt like he had just lied to someone he was supposed to trust._

_Who was he?_

_"I'm Josh," he said as if reading his mind.  "What's your name?"_

_He wished he could see his face better.  It was too dark in this part of the woods.  His face was cast with a light green glow, the sunlight being skewed by the green of the leaves overhead.  He stared at his figure in silence._

_"It's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you."  He moved from a squatting to a sitting position directly in front of him.  "Can you breathe alright?"_

_He finally found his voice, "Yeah, yeah.  I'm fine."  They shared silence, listening to the rustle of wind against the leaves and birds singing to one another.  "I'm Tyler," he finally answered._

_Though he couldn't see his face too well, he could see a smile stretch across his face.  "Is everything okay at home?" he asked after a while.  "I heard you shouting about it."_

_"The walls," he answered without thinking._ Stupid, _he thought to himself.  Josh waited for him to embellish on the subject patiently.  Tyler rubbed his hands nervously, refusing to look at Josh as he added, "They - They shake and move, the room gets smaller and smaller.  I don't - I_ can't _go back home."_

_Thinking about it made him panic.  He grabbed fistfuls of hair and pulled his knees up to cover his face, his breathing becoming troubled again.  "No, Tyler, I'm sorry, please breathe.  Calm, slow breaths.  I'm sorry, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want."_

_Tyler fell silent after that.  He didn't want to talk about it.  He was glad he didn't feel like he had to._

_Josh moved to lean against the left side of the tree, saying, "You don't have to worry, there aren't any walls here.  You're safe here, I promise."_

_Tyler saw Josh look over at him as he added, "It's just you, me, and the trees."_


	2. Ode to Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My chapters aren't very long and I don't even have a good excuse, and it should go more into a story rather than just flashbacks to meeting Josh and a therapy session soon, just a heads-up for future chapters!!

_Josh liked music, too. That was nice. He seemed to understand what he meant when he said the whole world seemed to be playing in D major while he was playing in F minor. But would he find it weird if he said Josh was B major chord? That the color of his hair was the chord of G major? Or that his eyes were the chord of C minor? Would he find it strange if Tyler pointed out each of his features made a song? Made_ him _a song? Or would even another musician be confused and unable to understand what he meant?_

_He closed his eyes as they talked about music and animals and trees and wishes and stars and space and birds and migraines and sleep and songs and folktales and –._

_Sleep._

_He hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in God knows how long. How he craved to cuddle up with darkness and be lured to sleep by the stars as they told stories of their constellations. His head sank down to his chest as he continued a muttered conversation with Josh, feeling sleepiness wash over him like a wave. He tried to keep himself awake, but Josh’s voice was so soothing. Almost like the lullabies he used to hear in his little sister’s room that he’d pretend not to listen to. His voice was just so. . . quiet. . ._

_How long had he been away from home?_

_He’d fallen asleep with his head against the tree. He hadn’t been able to sleep that well since. . . since. . . he really_ couldn’t _remember how long it’s been since he had a peaceful night’s sleep. It had grown dark, so much so that Tyler couldn’t see his own hand when he knew he held it inches from his face. It was thick, and moved around him like a living thing. It seemed to pulse and shift with breath, dance and speak as if it had limbs and a voice. The entire area seemed to hum an E flat minor chord. This was the kind of dark he had never stayed long enough outside to meet. He felt like he had met a new friend._

_A new friend. . ._

_Josh._

_He whipped around to try and find his new friend, feeling the damp soil to the left and right of him, but the dark was so thick he couldn’t see him, didn’t know where to reach. “Josh?” he whispered into the dark. No response. “Josh?” he whispered, a bit louder this time. When there was still no reply, he shouted, “Josh?”_

_“Hmm?” he hummed sleepily. He could hear grass shifting as Josh stated, “Sorry, I fell asleep. What’s up?”_

_“How long have I been out here?”_

_“Just from the time you left this morning,” he answered, “to about, I don’t know, it’s probably one in the morning right now. However long that would be.”_

_One in the morning?_

_He’d never been out this late before. Or this early. Was it late or was it early?_

_Did it matter?_

_“Why haven’t you gone home?” Tyler asked, letting out a deep sigh. Though he couldn’t see Josh, he could tell he had just opened a touchy subject with the way the question hung in the air without answer, clinging to the body of Dark._

_“I couldn’t just leave you here,” he answered._

_“You could have,” he corrected. “Easily.”_

_“I didn’t want to. No one should be alone in the woods.”_

* * *

 

“Tyler? Tyler?”

He didn’t realize he had zoned out for so long. “Are you okay, Tyler?”

What a stupid question. “Isn’t that your job to figure out?”

He sighed, scratching his beard and asking, “Do you want to move on from this for now? Let’s talk about something else, okay?” He nodded, trying not to show how grateful he was that they left the topic of the woods. That was private, a story just for him and Josh. Not someone who got paid to tell him his world was fake. “You play piano, don’t you, Tyler?”

He nodded again, the repetitive movement one he knew the doctor was extremely familiar with. “And ukulele.”

“What do you like about those instruments? Why do you enjoy playing them?”

He leaned back in his seat, thinking on the question. “Music isn’t something you hear, really.”

The doctor chuckled a little bit at that. “Oh?”

“If you hear music, you’re not listening to it properly. Music is. . . well, it’s something you _feel._ The rise and fall of your heart with chords and beat, you _feel_ that. _Hearing_ music won’t let you experience that.”

“And what does this have to do with the instruments?”

“I can feel those best.”

He scribbled something in his notebook and asked, “Care to embellish?”

“I don’t make music – music is the one making me. So if music is making me, the instruments do, too. It’s like they all have personalities, and if this instrument is going to help me grow in this area or that, it kinda feels like it calls to you. Like it knows what you want, or what you need.”

More notes. More scribbling and scratching of pen on paper. “Tyler, can I ask you a very. . . _personal_ question?”

“Isn’t that what all of this is?”

Another light chuckle. “I suppose so, yes.” He shifted in his seat a little bit as a dragonfly danced off the small pond next to them. “Tyler, how would you describe yourself? What do you _see_ in yourself? Do these instruments let you see something in yourself you couldn’t see before?”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. How was he supposed to explain he was the chord F sharp in minor?


	3. Blurryface

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've updated this three times today but I'm not very good at 1. waiting and 2. figuring out the time queue for this

“So how was it this time?”

Josh was sprawled on Tyler’s bed, waving his hand quickly through the lit flame of an open lighter, his tongue poking out between a pair of lips like they did when he was focused. “How do you think it was?” was his response as he took a seat on the edge of the bed, Josh flicking the lighter closed and sitting up as he did so. “I tell my mom I don’t want to go anymore but she never listens. She says it’s good for me, but I can’t stand it.”

He opened the window, the fact it was closed making it evident his mother was in here while he was gone. He always kept the window open – if the walls started to close in on him, tried to take him, tried to destroy him, there was always that one escape. Cold winter nights and hot summer afternoons found their way into his bedroom.

He didn’t mind. He liked the feeling of the outside infiltrating a place people thought it shouldn’t be. Liked the smell of crisp autumn leaves and soft white snow and blooming flowers and rain against hot summer pavement.

Footsteps creaked on the stairs. “My mom,” he groaned, laying down on the head and burying his face in his pillow.

Josh stood and walked towards his closet, joking, “Back in the closet, then.” It made Tyler smile a little bit, and he felt a little less lost inside for a quick moment.

A light rapping on the door. It pushed open. Sure enough it was his mother, stress lines created by years of worry and sleepless nights appearing like deep cuts in her face. “Can we talk, honey?”

He shrugged. He knew what she was going to talk about. Same conversation every time he came home from the therapist.

“I heard you’re having some trouble opening up to your new therapist. Dr. Lamb is one of the best in his field, you can trust him.”

Another shrug. He rolled onto his back and slid his hands under his head to better look at his mother.

“I. . . I mentioned something about Josh to him today.”

He could feel his face grow bright red and he sat up, asking, “What did you say?”

“I just, y’know, _mentioned_ him to the doctor, and he was very confused. You haven’t told him about Josh?”

“What, did you tell him about my _imaginary_ friend?” he growled, anger rising in him quickly. Josh was his _friend,_ he didn’t trust this therapist with the stories and memories he shared with his best friend.

“No, honey, I just. . .” She didn’t know how to continue. She sighed, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Why don’t you talk to him about Josh? I feel like it’ll be good for you. You didn’t want to talk about the day you left, either, why don’t you –”

“I don’t _want_ to talk to him, mom!” he snapped, louder and angrier than he meant to let on. “I can’t, I don’t. . . I don’t wanna talk to him, okay? Especially not about Josh. Not about the day I left and not about my memories, not about home or my thoughts or _anything_ , okay?”

She opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something, but decided it against it, closing her lips together tightly and giving a curt nod. She stood from the bed and hurried from the room, easing the door shut.

Josh stepped out quietly as Tyler rolled back onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillow, curling himself into a ball and pulling his blankets over his head. Josh turned the lights off and sat on the floor with his back against the bed, staring out the window at the setting sun. It was only six in the evening, but Tyler was so, _so_ tired. He felt ready to pass out, sleep for a thousand years.

“Josh?” he mumbled.

“Mhmm?”

“Can you. . . Will you stay here tonight?” he asked, sticking a hand out from the blankets and towards Josh.

He took his hand, giving a small smile towards the covered lump on the bed. “Yeah, of course.” Tyler gave out a relieved sigh and his grip on Josh’s hand relaxed as he eased into sleep. “No nightmares tonight,” he promised in a quiet whisper to the darkness, the kind that Tyler sought friendship in. “I’ll be sure of it.”

* * *

Falling, falling, falling, falling, falling. . .

He felt like Alice falling down the rabbit hole, but he had no sense of direction, he flailed wildly and shouted and screamed and he just kept falling faster and faster and faster and it felt like there was no end to the terrifying fall he was experiencing.

He hit water.

It didn’t hurt like it should.

But it engulfed him. He couldn’t breathe. It was dark, not the kind that hugged him in warm embrace, the kind you stuck in your pen and used to write with, the kind that drowned you and suffocated you and made you realize a child’s fear of the dark wasn’t so childish after all.

He kicked and thrashed his arms, trying to reach the surface of whatever this was, whatever it was trying to drag him down into the dark and inky depths and take his life from him.

He kicked out. Grabbed for the shore. Tried to drag himself out.

It followed him. Like a hand it reached out of the water, took him and dragged him back towards its deathly embrace. “ _Josh_!” he screamed, kicking at the substance and getting his foot caught in it. He dug his nails into the dirt, desperately trying to keep ahold of something. “ _Josh_!”

“Hey, don’t worry, Tyler, I’m here.” A light came up like a spotlight, staring down on Josh a few yards away. He continued clawing at the ground, fighting against the liquid, crawling towards Josh.

“Josh, please, _help me_!” he screamed. When he was close enough to touch him he reached out, but when his hand came into contact with his torn jeans he began to tremble and shake like when a pebble falls into a puddle. He melted into the inky substance and covered Tyler, began dragging him back towards the danger.

_Blurryface._

It was like a whisper, a threat carried on the wind. “ _Josh_!” he screamed, his voice piercing and hurting his own ears. He looked back and saw that the dark began to take form of _someone_ , someone he’d never seen before. “ _Josh_!” he screeched, hot tears streaming down his face. His fingers began to grow tired, his arms weak. “Josh, _please_ , I. . .” His voice turned into a defeated mutter, “I can’t do this anymore.”

He woke up covered in a cold sweat and shaking. Josh had his arms wrapped around him and he whispered, “Shh, shh, don’t worry, you’re okay.”

“Don’t let him get me, Josh, don’t let him take me, please.”

He didn’t ask who he was talking about. Just held him tighter, whispered into his hair, “I’m not going to let anyone take you, okay? You’re going to be just fine.” He ran delicate fingers up and down his back and Tyler buried his head into his chest, grabbing his shirt and refusing to let go, as if doing so would send him spiraling back into an inky abyss. Josh kissed his forehead, promised, “You’re going to be alright. Try to go back to sleep, I’m not going to let anything bad happen.”

Another small kiss on the forehead. “I’m not going to let anyone take you. You’re safe with me.”


	4. Fake You Out

His eyes drifted closed.

He tore them open, clawing at his face with his hands.

He couldn’t sleep.

Not without Josh.

The dark would turn inky.

And deep.

It’d be after him.

_Blurryface._

He said he had to leave.

Didn’t know when he’d be back.

Was he okay?

It wasn’t weird for Josh to come back very late at night.

Or early in the morning.

But still he worried.

He left the window open. Always did. It was an escape for him. An entrance for Josh.

Where was Josh?

He tore his eyes open again.

He couldn’t let himself sleep.

They’d get him.

The dark was like the walls.

They moved.

They tried to get him.

He wouldn’t let them get him.

Something squeaked.

Then screeched.

He looked around.

Panic set in.

The walls.

The _walls._

Oh dear God.

He sat up in bed, eyes wide, arms weak, legs shaking. Creaking, groaning, cracking as the walls began to push inward towards him.

He couldn’t breathe.

They were getting _closer_ and _closer_ and _closer_.

The window.

He went to jump out of bed and tripped, stumbled trying to get back up. Up. He looked up. The ceiling was coming down, the south wall moving north. He faced west, stared through the window.

Couldn’t breathe.

The wall was inches from him.

He screamed, screamed, screamed, tried to scream but his voice wouldn’t work. Wouldn’t make sound.

_Help._

He dove out the window. Rolled onto the small area of roof sitting just outside, clung onto the shingles and dug his head against them, closed his eyes tightly, hot tears streaming down his face. His forehead was cut, bleeding, his nails filed down so low they bled, his knees torn from the dive through the window.

“Tyler?”

Josh.

He opened his eyes, rolled over and looked at him. He was knelt next to him, asked, “Do you want to sleep out here tonight?”

He nodded.

“Want to go out to the trees?”

He thought on it before shaking his head. Too far. Too dark. He couldn’t trust the dark anymore.

Josh climbed inside the bedroom and Tyler began screaming, “ _No_ , Josh! The – The walls, Josh!”

He returned with a blanket, promised, “Nothing bad is going to happen, Ty.” Wrapped him in the cloth. Tightly. They looked up at the stars.

Tyler could breathe again.

Deep breaths.

He saw Josh open a book. “Hey Josh?”

“Yeah?” He looked up from the pages.

“Will you read to me?”

He smiled. “Yeah, of course.” He cleared his throat, looked back at the book. “ _A few miles south of Soledad, the Salinas River drops in close to the hillside bank and runs deep and green. . ._ ”

His eyes drifted closed and he fell asleep to the sound of bats squeaking and clicking and Josh’s deep breaths drifting over the sounds of the words.

* * *

“How did you get those cuts, Tyler?”

He crossed his arms and stared down at the patio ground. The pond made a light tinkling sound as a small fountain trickled ounces of water in and out of the body. Bees buzzed onto the flowerbed and dragonflies danced on the water. He shook his shoulders up and down in a shrug, saying, “I tripped.”

Dr. Lamb shook his head. “You don’t get cuts like that tripping.” He glanced at his arms, searching for hands he had hidden. “Can I see your hands?”

“Why?”

“Please, Tyler, just let me see your hands.”

Reluctantly, he held out a hand and the therapist looked at his fingernails, dried with blood and filed to the point it still hurt. “What happened last night, Tyler?”

He always told him the walls were stationary.

Never moved.

That it was all a part of his imagination.

So should he tell him?

“It was. . . uh. . .” He tapped his fingertips against the arms of the chair. “The walls again,” he muttered, tracing a pattern on the cement ground with the tip of his shoe.

He scribbled something on his notepad. “How often have the walls moved recently, Tyler?”

He. . .

He wasn’t accusing him of imagining this?

“Every other week or so.”

“Your mother said she found you sitting on the roof outside last night. Was it because the walls were moving?” He nodded. More writing. “And how did you scrape yourself up? Was it when you went out onto the roof?” Another nod. “Your mother said she heard you talking to yourself very early this morning. What were you talking about?”

“I wasn’t talking to myself,” he replied, but immediately he regret saying it.

“Your mother told me about Josh the other day, Tyler. Were you talking to him?” Nodded. Hesitantly. “Do you ever tell people about Josh? Talk about him, what he’s like?”

“I tried talking with my mom about it when I first met him.”

“How did she react?”

“She seemed really. . . uncomfortable. So I quit talking to her about it.”

“Never talked to her about it again?” He shook his head. His mother would ask every once in a while, tell him Josh wasn’t real. He learned to shake it off – it didn’t matter what she said anymore. “Why don’t you tell me about Josh?”

No. He didn’t want to tell him about Josh. He wouldn’t understand. He wouldn’t understand him if he said that his hair was the color of G major, if he said his eyes were the shade of C minor. He wouldn’t understand if he said Josh was his favorite chord.

“Tyler?”

He looked up. “Would you like to tell me about Josh?”

How could he put it so that Dr. Lamb would understand it? What was C minor in a way he could understand? Josh always understood what he meant, so why couldn’t Dr. Lamb? Why couldn’t his mother? Why couldn’t people just _understand_?

Josh liked music. _That’s_ why he could understand.

“He likes music,” he finally said, beginning to trace his foot in a figure eight pattern.

“How old is Josh, Tyler?”

“Uh, seventeen.”

“So he’s your age?”

“Yeah, about.”

“What else does he like? Anything you guys like to do together?”

He tried to think. What would he understand? What could he say that he would understand? “Stars,” he decided upon.

“What about them?”

“We like to look at the stars,” he answered. “Like the stories.”

“You like stories about the constellations?” He nodded again. More writing. He loved the sound of pen scratching against paper. “And what does Josh look like?”

_He has C minor eyes and G major hair. His nose is B flat major and his ears are A flat major. His voice is like. . . like D flat minor. He’s. . . He’s B major and he’s my favorite song._

He shrugged.


	5. Stressed Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I haven't updated in a while! I've been completely out of ideas and my family was right in the middle of moving. We just finished moving out today and we're staying with family until the 11th when we get to move into our new house, so this is the first chance I've gotten to sit down and try to piece together another chapter.  
> I also won't be able to update for a while because I won't have wifi Monday-Wednesday and Friday my whole family leaves for Florida for a week. There's a chance I may be able to update while out of state, but I'm not sure.   
> Thank you everyone for your patience the past week!! I never realized how hectic moving can be.

Small, gentle taps. A bony hand against thick glass. Glass that wouldn’t break. Not even with rocks. Or bullets. He’d tried before; sometimes the window wouldn’t open. That’s why he always kept it open now.

Josh always knocked before he came in, even though the window was open for his entry most, if not all, of the time. Tyler looked at him from his spot at his desk, his notebook under his hand and scrawled with a dark, oil pastel drawing. Sharp lines and graceful curves took on a small aspect of Picasso, while the delicate blending of pastels created a look that hinted at a dark version of Monet. There was, of course, the details that could only be claimed by Tyler’s handiwork and creative genius.

He gestured for Josh to come inside. Josh asked, “Can I see what you drew?”

Tyler hunched over the notepad and leaned against his right arm so Josh couldn’t see the picture. “I dunno,” he muttered. “It’s kinda. . . strange.”

“What isn’t?” he joked, throwing a smile to him. “You know I’d never make fun of you, man.”

He gave a small shrug, “Alright. Just. . . It’s weird, okay?”

He handed the book to Josh who stared at it in wonder. “Is this. . . Is this me?”

Tyler nodded, “Dr. Lamb wanted me to draw a picture of you. He says he thinks it’ll help my hallucinations.”

“What hallucinations?”

“Exactly,” Tyler responded. “He thinks just because nobody else has ever met you or seen the walls move that it doesn’t happen, but it does. It’s _real_ ,” he insisted, trying to convince himself more than Josh. He shook his head a little bit, trying to shake off the thought.

“Well this is really good,” Josh complimented, handing him his notebook back.

“Thanks,” he replied with a small smile, taking the drawing and closing the book, sliding it into the drawer on the right side of the desk.

Josh laid down on the bed and placed his hands under his head, saying, “It’s still light out, I was thinking we could head out to the woods. You haven’t been able to go out in a while.”

He shrugged, “I dunno, mom’s been pretty upset since my last _incident,_ ” he hissed the final word. “She hasn’t wanted me to leave the house because of it.”

“Well,” he smiled, ducking back out the window, “I’ll be there if you want to join me anytime. You know where I’ll be.”

He sat silently for a few minutes after Josh left, reached into his desk and grabbed the drawing and stared at it for too long. He memorized every smudge and line and shadow and color and tried to correct things that just didn’t seem right about it, but no matter what he did, it never seemed to fully capture his full spirit. It felt like trying to draw music –

Music.

That’s _it._

He sat down at his keyboard, clicked it on and rested his first, third, and fifth fingers on G, B, and D, pressing down into G chord and seeing the color of it resonate through the room. He did it again, grabbing an oil pastel and holding it up as he did so. He scribbled it onto the picture and tossed it aside, moving his fingers to C, D sharp, and G, listening to C minor and grabbing at colors that resembled the sound. He sketched eyes in the color as he slammed his fingers on D, F, and A, sketching the ears on either side. He continued with this, making a picture from song with a symphony of colors. By the time he finished he had it the closest he’d be able to draw Josh with the abilities he possessed.

He locked it in his top desk drawer. Hid the key in his pillow case. Last time he drew a picture of Josh for her she panicked, and when he caught her looking through his stuff one day he started locking anything he found too personal for other people to see in his top desk drawer.

He looked back at the window.

It was open. Inviting. Constantly ready for his exit. That’s why it was always open, right?

_You know where I’ll be._

He decided he’d come back before dark.

And Josh was right, he knew exactly where to meet him. He was standing quietly in the trees, smiling, waiting. “I thought you might show up. Get your drawing done?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“I’d love to see it sometime, if you don’t mind.”

“Uh, yeah, of course.”

They sat down, backs against a tree, just like they did when they first met. “I was thinking of dyeing my hair again,” Josh mentioned to start some conversation. “I just don’t know what color.”

Tyler twisted around to see him and looked at his hair for a few minutes, examining the faded blue tips. “I think red would look good,” he responded, leaning his head against the tree. “Or purple. Green, maybe, too.”

Josh laughed a little bit. “You’re not exactly narrowing down my options here.”

Tyler smiled at him, saying, “I narrowed it down to three.”

There was some silence shared between them for a while. “How’s your mom doing?”

“It looks like she hasn’t slept in years. I wish she would stop worrying and get some sleep every once in a while.”

“She just cares about you, Ty.”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t need to worry. _I_ worry about _her_ sometimes, ya know? She’s just so stressed all the time, and her smiles are always exhausted. I wish I could see her genuine smile again.” He looked up towards the sky and squinted through thick leaves. “But I haven’t seen that in seven years, and I doubt I’ll see it again soon.”

* * *

“Your mother told me you ran away again, Tyler.”

“I didn’t run away.”

“You left without permission and you weren’t back until morning.”

When Tyler left, he had fallen asleep in the same spot they had met, woke up around one and panicked in the dark that used to welcome him. Josh grabbed his hand and promised him nothing was going to hurt him and he fell back asleep. He didn’t return home until the sun was well above the horizon and his mother was beside herself with panic and worry.

“I didn’t run away,” he repeated. “That was sneaking out.”

“Why did you sneak out?”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, felt the notebook against his back where he hid it when he came in. “Tyler, I need you to be honest with me. Nobody’s upset with you, we just want to know _why_.”

He let out a deep breath. “I went to hang out with Josh.”

That pen scratching on paper sound that he loved so much found his ears as Dr. Lamb wrote. “Have you finished your drawing of Josh for me?”

He pulled his notebook out and flipped it open, handing it to the therapist and staring at the ground as he did so. He stared at the drawing in stunned silence for about a minute before laying it on the table in front of them. “What do you two talk about when you’re alone?”

Tyler shrugged. “Whatever we’re in the mood to talk about, I guess. Whatever topic just happens to come up for whatever reason.”

“You said last time we talked about Josh that the two of you like to look at the stars together. You said you liked the stories of the constellations. Would you care to explain that a bit more?”

Another shrug. “They just kind of remind us there’s a lot out there, and maybe the mistakes we make aren’t as big as they seem.”

Dr. Lamb moved forward in his sweet and swatted at a mosquito. “Explain.”

“I feel like if you focus _too_ much on what happens here, on the bad things you do and their consequences, you lose sight of the good things. Realizing you’re just a small dot in this infinite universe, it makes your mistakes seem not so terrible. I dunno, it’s kinda backwards, I guess.”

“I understand completely,” he said, but from the way he said it, it was evident he didn’t. “I’d like to go back to this picture for a moment,” he picked up the notebook and peered down at the drawing over his glasses. “It’s a very nice drawing. The oil pastels are nice. Did you have him sit down when you drew this?”

“No.”

“Did you draw it from memory?”

_It._

“No,” he responded without thinking, reflecting back to his fingers slamming chords out of the keyboard.

“How did you draw it, then?”

His mother knocked on the door. “Come in, Mrs. Joseph.”

She pushed in with a tired smile, said, “Sorry to intrude, but his session ended fifteen minutes ago and I believe you’re next patient is waiting.”

“Of course,” he nodded. “Tyler, tonight I want you to write something about Josh, okay? It can be a story or a poem or a song, but I’d like you to write something about him or something that reminds you of him.”

He gave a quick nod before following his mother out the door.


	6. Update

I know it has been a very long time since I updated this work.  I apologize for my extended absence, but what I had written was lost when my computer suddenly crashed one day, and I have not had time to sit down and rewrite the chapter since.  I haven't had free time in months - school started in August, marching band in September, my mother gave birth to my younger sister in October, and I've had drumline since November and I've had to help with the baby.  With the holidays so close, I won't be able to update too terribly soon, either, but I do plan on continuing this story and should hopefully have an update by mid-January, maybe even sooner.  Again, I apologize for such a long absence.


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